


Questions of Science

by yourenotfree



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Angst With A Mostly Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Ian loves Mickey, M/M, Trust, Trust Issues, all of the love, even including the shitty character assassination of mickey milkovich, mickey loves ian, potentially mental health issues, together again fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:20:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: He loved Ian. That was easy. That wasn’t the problem.





	Questions of Science

**Author's Note:**

> Baby boy deals with his abandonment issues in this fic!! Ian treats Mickey the way he deserves!! The *Kev & Mick* bromance is briefly mentioned!!
> 
> This is not a fic to be missed, folks. Hope you enjoy xx.

There was a voice in Mickey’s head.

 

It kept him up late into the night, and was the first to greet him when he woke in the morning. It seeped seamlessly into his subconscious, and manifested in his dreams. It had a name, and a shape, and a constant presence in his life.

 

There was a voice in Mickey’s head, and it hadn't left him alone since that cold, grey day outside the Gallagher house so long ago.

 

(It had been cold out, hadn't it? Mickey couldn't remember feeling _anything_ , except fear.)

 

Mickey chewed off one corner of a piece of toast, and watched Ian get ready for work. Watched him get ready to leave. He clenched his hands into fists until his knuckles stained white, and bit down on his tongue until blood ran through his teeth.

 

(He said _Don’t_ , and Ian left.)

 

“What time do you get off?” Mickey asked, aiming for nonchalant, but failing at pathetic. He tore the toast to pieces for something to do.

 

Ian didn't even look up from his coffee, from the newspaper article in front of him. “Ten. Maybe later.”

 

It was the uncertainty that ate away at Mickey. It was the prospect of falling asleep alone, and waking up the same way. It stole the breath from his lungs, and rational thought from his head.

 

(He said _I love you_ , and Ian turned his back.)

 

“Late,” he parroted, feeling numb. “Got it. I’ll wait up.”

 

Ian lowered his paper, and smiled across the table to Mickey. “You know you don't have to do that, Mick.”

 

But he _did._ He did.

 

Mickey mustered up an eye roll, and a half-smile to go along with it, and said, “Whatever. I don't mind, Gallagher.”

 

Ian beamed at him as he stood from his chair, and relocated his empty mug to the sink. He shrugged into his uniform jacket, and stooped to press a kiss into Mickey’s mouth. He pulled back (much, _much_ too soon). “I love you, Mickey.”

 

Mickey felt a lump expand in his throat.

 

(He said _Come with me_ , and Ian said _I can’t_.)

 

He had to force the words out. “Yeah. Love you, too.”

 

He loved Ian. That was easy. That wasn’t the problem.

 

Ian left for work. Mickey vomited chunks of burnt toast into the sink. He dicked around on his phone for a few hours, then slouched off to the Alibi to waste a few more, where Kev always greeted him with a pitiful smile, and a shot of whiskey.

 

Alcohol drowned the voice out, but alcohol, like so many other fucking things, was temporary.

 

When he’d sobered up enough that Kev let him leave, Mickey walked home, and passed more time with mindless reality shows, and some clichéd action movie, turned up loud enough to split his eardrums open.

 

And, just like he always promised, Mickey waited up for Ian, heart ricocheting around his rib cage to the tune of _what if he doesn't come home? What if he leaves me for good? What will I be without him?_

It was what Mickey hated the most about himself. He was afraid. He was a fucking _coward_.

 

Ten o'clock came and went. The little hand crawled towards eleven, painfully slow. The voice in Mickey’s head grew in confidence.

 

( _The hell does that even mean?_ )

 

(Even the memory splintered Mickey’s heart.)

 

The doorknob turned at half past twelve, and Mickey was on his feet. He was standing facing the door when Ian breezed through it.

 

He looked surprised to find Mickey waiting for him. He always looked surprised, and Mickey always played along. “Hey,” he said cheerily, unwinding a scarf from his neck. “You didn't have to wait up for me.”

 

“Nothing better to do,” Mickey answered. He tracked Ian’s movements into the kitchen with his eyes. “How was your day?” He called after him.

 

Ian grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, then leaned against it. He smiled at Mickey, tired but fond. “Long and boring. Over, now. Come to bed with me?”

 

The voice was muted, now that Ian was here, now that Ian was with him. He felt the panic in his chest slowly fold in on itself. After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah. Bed.”

 

Mickey trailed Ian into their bedroom, and propped himself up against the doorframe. He studied his boyfriend as he shucked off his uniform, and traded it for a pair of comfy, grey sweatpants. With that finished, Ian half-turned towards Mickey, and held out a hand.

 

“Coming?”

 

Mickey took a long, deep breath. Ian wasn't leaving him, at least not tonight.

 

(Sometimes, he tried to remind himself of the other stuff.

 

_I miss you._

_I like how he smells._

_You're here._

_A lot.)_

Ian was staring at him, expression soft with concern. “Mick? You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Mickey said quietly. He stepped further into the room, and shut the door behind himself. He stepped out of his jeans, and tossed them in the general direction of the laundry basket (one of Ian’s purchases, obviously).

 

“How was _your_ day?” Ian asked. His mouth had twisted into a goofy smile, and Mickey was finding it difficult to keep his own frown in place.

 

God did he fucking _love_ this kid.

Mickey didn't want to talk about his stupid, fucking day. He reached out for Ian, and dug his fingertips into the redhead’s naked hip. He felt his brain go a little fuzzy. “C’mere,” he mumbled.

 

Ian slipped a hand into Mickey’s dark hair, tugging gently. “‘M right here, Mick. Always right here.”

 

 _Always right here._ Mickey tried very hard not to noticeably flinch at the promise.

 

When Ian frowned, Mickey knew he had failed.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Mickey’s entire body went still. He tried to shrug it off. “Nothin’, man. Just tired.” He paused, teeth slicing into his bottom lip, and mumbled the next part. “Missed ya.”

 

Ian’s smile returned. His hands had traveled to the base of Mickey’s neck, and his fingers squeezed gently at the sensitive skin there. “Missed you, too,” he said quietly. He studied Mickey for a long moment, before continuing, “I’m always going to come home, Mick. I know you couldn't count on me before, but you can now.”

 

Mickey had heard Ian use pretty words like these before. If he closed his eyes, he could hear every last one, playing on a constant loop in the back of his mind. He had been here before, and he knew just how easily a promise that confident could be broken.

 

_(They drove all the way to the border, and Ian stayed behind.)_

Mickey trusted Ian more than he’d ever trusted another human being. That was important. He needed to remember that.

 

“I know,” Mickey said, even though it was a lie. Even though he _didn't_ know, at least not for certain.

 

Ian kissed the corner of Mickey’s mouth, and the sensation sent electricity shooting down his spine. It had always been like that.

 

“One day,” Ian began softly, “I’ll make it all up to you, Mick. I’ll earn your trust back. I promise.”

 

“I _do_ trust you,” Mickey answered reflexively, frowning on instinct.

 

Did he? Most of the time, the answer was easy.

 

“I’ll never stop being sorry for everything I put you through,” Ian went on.

 

Mickey fought the urge to pull away. He kept his eyes trained steadily on Ian’s, and focused on breathing normally. “I don't want you to be sorry, Gallagher. I just want you to be _here_.”

 

Ian smiled. “I’ve only ever wanted to be with you, Mick.”

 

Mickey knew what that felt like. He’d only ever loved one person, and no matter how many fucks came before and in between, there was no replacing Ian Gallagher, and there never would be.

 

Mickey took a small step backwards, towards the bed. He tugged at Ian’s hip, prompting the redhead to move with him. “C’mon,” Mickey said. “Let's just go to bed.”

 

He threw himself down onto his side of the bed, and dragged the sheets up to his chest with one hand, using the other to keep a tight hold on Ian. Ian laid down beside him, and immediately wrapped a strong arm around Mickey’s waist, aligning their bodies so that Mickey’s spine cut a path down Ian’s bare chest.

 

“Night,” Mickey whispered into the darkness.

 

Ian’s arm tightened around his middle. “Goodnight. Love you.”

 

_(The first time Ian said it, Mickey felt like he was coming up for fresh air after an eternity of drowning.)_

 

“Love you, too.”

 

_(The first time Mickey said it, he knew immediately that it had been true for a long time. He knew that it would never stop being true.)_

Mickey took a breath, and shut his eyes.

 

The voice in his head was quiet, and Ian would be there when he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudo if you enjoyed!!
> 
> Much love.


End file.
